


Adventures in Melodramaticism

by MrsMoosie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bongos, Emo, Food coloring, Hot Mess, Humor, Injury, M/M, Melodrama, Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMoosie/pseuds/MrsMoosie
Summary: Crowley is being outlandishly melodramatic over a small injury and begins taking things juuuust a bit too far.Because he’s transcendentally bored.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	Adventures in Melodramaticism

**Author's Note:**

> Literally Crowley just being an idiot and pissing Aziraphale off for three days.
> 
> This is a short dumb thing that started out in a chat and ended up well... this. There’s really no reason for any CW other than the first scene that may lean into the injury category but I promise... It’s just humor. I can’t imagine why I’m posting this at all.

Water poured down Crowley’s skin, numb like an illusion. The steaming hot droplets did nothing to take away the pain he was feeling, and he doubted that anything could. His eyes stung with tears as he leaned into the wall, arms wrapping around himself tightly. 

The pain… There was so much pain…

It had started recently, and had only become worse over time. Nothing seemed to help, it wasn’t something he could sew back together and be fine. It was going to have to heal on its own, naturally. No miracles this time. No sweet Angel to take away his suffering, hold him through the hurt. He was alone, and-

Several knocks came at the door.

He was alone, and would always be this way.

Several more louder knocks came.

“Crowley?! Can you open the door?” Aziraphale called. Crowley winced at the sound of his voice and leaned into the cool tile beside him.

“No… Go, just leave me here to die…” Crowley called back, eyes closing.

“What? Crowley?!”

Crowley’s head dropped down, eyes cracking open to look to his hand. There he saw red, slowly dripping down his side and into a swirling vortex down the drain. It was a pleasing sight, watching as it turned pink before disappearing.

“Leave me.” Crowley repeated himself.

Aziraphale slammed his forehead against the door.

“I told you to wear the gloves! I’m sorry but paper cuts happen! You don’t have to be so dramatic about it! Oscar was a  _ friend _ !”

“It was  _ his book _ .” Crowley snapped, more red falling into the drain.

“Did you take my food coloring again?”

“...”

Crowley stayed silent.

“Anthony Crowley?! Stop wasting my good food coloring on your melodrama!”

“Stop allowing your books to wound me!”

Aziraphale shook his head vehemently and set his hands purposefully in front of him, forcing himself to stay level headed.

“Look. If you want to stay in there and be whatever this is… That’s fine. I’m going to water your plants for you, then.”

“Fine.” Crowley sighed, squeezing the food coloring and grinning as it slid down his leg. Next time, he thought he’d try blue.

~*~

The next day, Crowley was sitting in Aziraphale’s favorite armchair. He’d shoved it beside the window and curled up. A tartan blanket was wrapped around him, hiding his body so only his head poked out of the top. He looked to the side, through the glass, watching water droplets run down sadly. He was still upset, feeling down and second best. Aziraphale didn’t take him seriously, why would he? He had his books, and they would always be more important than he. Crowley would always be second in his heart.

The water suddenly shot hard against the window, and as soon as the hard spray came it was gone. The sun was out, shining through the glass and drying the droplets. Crowley watched as Aziraphale wrapped up the hose, doing Crowley’s chores for him. Again. 

Under appreciated snake…

He let out a loud sigh as the Angel walked in. Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed his chair moved to the complete opposite side of the room, with a certain old serpent curled into it.

“Crowley, honestly you’re being ridiculous!”

Crowley merely sighed again, louder this time, and shrunk down into the cushions, now covering most of his face so only his eyes poked out.

“Crowley…”

Golden eyes peered out the window, looking longingly to the sun. “The ducks will be migrating any day now. I wish I could fly with them…”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Crowley… It’s  _ JULY _ .” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “And you  _ can _ fly! You can fly whenever you like! _ You have wings _ !”

Crowley glanced over to Aziraphale, who was red in the face. He said nothing, but looked out the window again with an even louder sigh. Aziraphale was getting stressed. He clenched his jaw and turned, leaving the room.

Crowley grinned and snuggled further under the blanket.

~*~

The third day of this… rather  _ dramatic _ period in Crowley’s life culminated in a grand gesture. He’d been in the bathroom forever it seemed, and an awful stench like chemicals was seeping out from under the door. Aziraphale wasn’t too concerned, because he continuously heard noises and the water running. The smell could not be doing Crowley any favors though, and that was what made him most nervous. Even as a supernatural being, he could still get high off the fumes. 

Two hours passed. Two hours and a half…

Finally, the bathroom door unlocked and Crowley skulked out. 

Aziraphale, tired of waiting, was in the kitchen preparing himself a cup of coffee. He was sipping it when he heard the footsteps coming down the hall. Closer, and closer they came, shuffling along the floor.

“Honestly, Crowley what took you so- Oh! Oh. My. Lord.”

The sound of an angel winged teacup crashing on the floor could be heard, and two hands flew up to cover his mouth. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should be laughing, crying, or seriously concerned at what he was looking at… But there was no word for it.

Crowley stood, the thickest, darkest black eyeliner outlined his golden eyes, complemented by mascara. His clothes, of course, were black as always… But what shocked Aziraphale the most was his hair… His hair was  _ black _ . It was limp, hanging down over one eye in front of his face. His entire head of gorgeous, crimson red hair had been dyed  _ black _ with some human chemical science experiment in a box. But his… His beautiful hair…

“Cah… Cah… Crowley?”

“Hm?”

“You- You- What… What’s all… What’s the… This look?!”

“Thought of trying to go emo… Seems to be a thing now.” Crowley’s hand held up a set of bongos, “See you play these and read poems. Well not really read, so much as just talk I guess.”

“Ee… Emo?”

“Mmyeah. Emo. ‘s like… Emotions and stuff. Just matches my  _ mood _ lately.” Crowley blew his bangs out of his eyes and sat on the floor, right in the middle of the kitchen.

“You…”

“See right now…” Crowley started slapping his hands on the bongos, “I’m feeling like this cup. I’m broken into pieces unable to be repaired… Unnoticed by anyone, just going in the trash.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or discorporate the demon so he could start this conversation over again. 

“Crowley…”

“Mmyeah?”

“Is this about the papercut still?”

“It’s about  _ pain…  _ And  _ suffering  _ that I have endured.” Crowley slammed his hands onto the bongos, the sound carrying through the room. He swayed side to side, eyes closing.

“Oh, good lord, this is ridiculous! Crowley- Fine. You want an apology? I’m sorry. I’m very, deeply sorry that my first edition of ‘The Picture of Dorian Grey’ gave you a paper cut. If you had waited, I would have miracled it away for you! This has just gone too far!”

Crowley glanced up through black bangs, and a silence broke between them.

“Too far…” Crowley’s hands hit the bongos in a horrid, beatless sound, “What  _ is _ too far, man?”

Aziraphale dropped to his knees before Crowley and sat back on his feet, hands clasped in his lap. “Crowley… Darling, your beautiful hair… I’m so sorry that you were hurt. Can you forgive me, and my books?”

Crowley stopped instantly and looked at Aziraphale’s hands. They were so perfectly manicured, soft to the touch… His eyes traveled further up and met blue eyes, seeing the concern behind them. Perhaps that  _ was _ enough. He had been rather bored, though. This was a good break. Crowley gave a small smirk and lifted a hand, giving a snap.

Everything was back to normal. The shower was cleaned, Aziraphale’s chair was in it’s normal spot. Crowley was normal- Ginger red hair pulled away from his eyes, and the dreaded bongos sent away. Even Aziraphale’s poor cup of tea was replaced, steaming hot on the counter. He sat up on his knees, mirroring Aziraphale.

“Well, that was fun. Gotta go check the plants.” He winked, leaning in and kissing Aziraphale as if nothing had just happened. Aziraphale gasped as Crowley stood and stuffed his hands in his pockets, starting to walk away.

“Crowley?! Wha- Are you- All of this because you were  _ bored _ ?! Are you serious?!”

“Yep. Totally serious.” Crowley grinned, strutting across the room and singing to himself.

“You… You  _ bastard _ .” Aziraphale growled.

“Non… rien de rien… Non, je ne regrette rien…” Crowley sang happily, feet quickly picking up pace to escape the wrath of the Angel that he just brought out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on IG @mrsmoosie35 💙


End file.
